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THE TRAGEDY OF ETARRE
by
RHYS CARPENTER
CHARACTERS OF THE POEM
PELLEAS
GAWAINE, knight of the Table Round
FERGUS, attendant on PELLEAS
ETARRE
AILEEN, maid to ETARRE
AVRAN
BALARIN } knights of ETARRE
MARIS
The scene is laid in the COUNTRY OF ETARRE
THE TRAGEDY OF ETARRE
PROLOGUE
SCENE: The curtain rises upon shifting fog-clouds
which drive across the stage in ceaseless unrest.
GAWAINE is half visible, struggling against
the grey drift.
GAWAINE
Is this the dawn whose fingers strive so weak
To pluck away the clinging shroud of night,
Or is this some unlightened, sullen land
Fallen between the darkness and the day?
Back from me, shrouded phantoms, misty sprites!
This is no time to whirl your shadow-dance:
Seek out the flooded marshes of the North
If ye would revel; seek the sunless heights
And laugh along their chasms and dark ravines,
Or frown and lower on plain of gloomy lakes,
Or battle with the giants of the hills.
[He unsheathes his sword.]
Since ye have shape and substance, fear this blade.
Shifting and mocking though ye vex mine eyes,
Yet are ye more than breath of mindless air,
For here I see your bodies' countenance
That leers against me, stupid mouth ajar,
And there I see your clutching hands which stretch
With boneless fingers, snatching at the wind.
[He strikes.]
Lo, how I cleft thee, shuddering breast and waist
From formless nether-limbs! Thy silly strength
Is thistle-down that's harried by the storm,
Or rain-drop's airy bubble threatening
With tiny voice the clarion-mouthèd sea.
Give way, weak phantom-thoughts of impotence,
Less real than clouded dreams that fall and break
In splintered crystals of awakening.
Grey-blooded, mirthless things that toss and fret,
I drive you back before me, void and vain.
[He disappears in the fog, cleaving with his sword
the clouds which press in on every side. From
the unseen background are heard three voices
singing.]
SONG
Children of the misty plain,
Creatures wrought of cloud and rain,
Shadowed phantoms of the brain
Of the dreaming earth,
Fade and vanish! in the sun
All your magic is undone,
All your charmèd webs unspun,
Tangles little worth,
Tattered shreds and wisps of grey
By the breezes swept away,
Smitten by the swords of day.
[During the song the fog has begun to clear.]
Fade and vanish, take you hence,
Loose your revel, break your spell,
Crush the heaven's lightless shell;
Hidden in the magic well,
Held enfettered by our thrall,
Move no wing and stir no sense,
Bide imprisoned till we call.
[The fog has entirely cleared.]
SCENE: A woodland pool, about which stand three
maidens, the first of whom is young, the second
in the mid of life, the third old, with grey-
streaked hair. The trees show autumn leafage.
Early morning.
GAWAINE
What sprites are ye that weave a riddled song
Whereby the very forces of the sky
Are held enmeshed in sure obedience?
THE YOUNGEST
Draw near and hearken to our speech,
For we have wonders on our lips
And work strange magic with our tongue.
THE SECOND
On sable reef and golden beach
By will of us sea-things and ships
In wrack of wind and wave are flung.
THE ELDEST
The fingers of our fortune reach
From moon to sun and work eclipse
Whereby dead stars are fashioned young.
GAWAINE
What wild black speech is this of sun and star,
And what have ye to do with ruined ships?
Are ye the devil's handmaids working grief
Against the sunlit ways of God?
THE ELDEST
We guard:
Ours is a sacred heritage.
THE SECOND
We wait:
Ours is a dark fulfillment.
THE YOUNGEST
We attain:
For we are one with all that moves and is.
GAWAINE
What ye attain I know not, why ye wait
Is hidden till the waiting hour be done,
And what ye guard I see not, yet am fain
To snatch this knowledge from your flying speech
As feather stricken from a fleeing bird.
[He approaches the three]
THE SECOND
The plume that flutters down the tired wind
Is not more idly grasped, nor with less toil
Attained, than is the secret of our word.
GAWAINE
Is this a spring wherein the fair water lies,
Or but illusion's round, some silver gleam
Caught up and pent within the hoop of night,
A mirror wrought of nothing? Nay, but here
Is water welcome to the thirsty mouth!
I pray you by all holy thoughts and names
Give me to drink! Three days of wandering
Have parched my lips and snapped my strength in twain.
THE YOUNGEST
The well of strange adventure: whoso drinks
Shall fill the changing pages of his deeds
With words of written wonder.
GAWAINE
And the king
Has nought of higher praise to give his knights
Than this: "They sought adventure and attained."
Give me to drink. Alone and without steed,
Wearied with hunger, stricken with fatigue,
I take upon me danger, toil, and strife,
And drink adventure with an eager mouth;
For I am Gawaine, and of Arthur's court!
THE ELDEST
Before that hour when over stony ways
Thy steed was broken, never in the lists
To run against the wind with nostrils wide
Or stand again the shock of breaking spears,
Before, alone in wood and tangled glade,
Thy feet strove sadly, seeking hermitage,
We knew of Gawaine, dreaming he would come
And beg a draught to quench his bitter thirst.
GAWAINE
What tale is this? Ye knew that I should come?
THE ELDEST
Yea, 'twas our knowledge that this thing should be.
GAWAINE
Beneath gold raiment lurks deceptive heart
And too-great knowledge is a mask for ill.
I fear you that are fair of face, and wise
Beyond all proper wisdom of mankind.
God and the devil's workers are alone
In such foreknowledge.
THE ELDEST
Find no fear of us.
This was a dream: we are beset with dreams.
What faults of ours if they be always true?
We cannot guide our dreams, they are of God.
THE SECOND
We are the warders of a deathless source.
Draw near and drink, and have no further fear.
THE YOUNGEST
We give, yet give not save for gift's return.
GAWAINE
What will ye of me?
THE SECOND
That which all must give,
Judgement between us of his true desire.
GAWAINE
The shrouds of clinging words are yet undrawn,
And deep enfolded lies the inner wish:
I know not what ye say, nor what ye will.
THE YOUNGEST
No colours of strange magic hide our speech.
The well of strange adventure: whoso drinks
Shall choose between us whom his true desire
Would make companion in the day of deeds.
GAWAINE
Is this the price wherewith a draught is paid?
Small price and quickly given. Yet to choose
Vexes the spirit with a running doubt
That will not rest.
THE YOUNGEST
Nay, drink thy draught,
And when the clamour of the hounds of thirst
Has ceased above its quarry, and thy lips
Are drinking in their long-sought sustenance,
Perchance thy spirit's fire shall rise again
Until the lamp of judgement shall be light
Within thy mind, to cast its faultless shine
Upon our waiting and release thy doubt.
THE SECOND
Loosen thy helm and make of it thy bowl,
Thy silver goblet dipping crystal wine.
GAWAINE
The subtle threads of water twist and spin
And will not be contained within a helm.
THE SECOND
Nay, make thy trial.
GAWAINE
If there be magic here,
Perchance the helm will hold the dwindling weight;
Else is it vain. Yet let my hands essay
What soul and body thirst for; and ye streams
Of shadowed water, lend your kindly aid.
[He looses his helmet and dips it into the well until it
is filled to the brim. He raises it to his lips,
and, stooping above it, drinks long.]
Through all the barren chambers of my soul
There went the sound of music and a voice
That woke the silence with a song of life;
And my own spirit sang. Through open doors
Came breath of springtime, earth's awakening,
The resurrection from the graves of sleep.
Look down, look down; the water at thy feet
Is troubled with the coming of a dream.
GAWAINE
[Gawaine bends over the well and stares into its depths.]
What world of changing pageants here is hid?
Across the mirrored passage of the well
Move bright processions, glittering array
Of bannered knights and charging battle-fields.
The shift like oil on silent rivers borne
And blend quick colours caught from rainbow heights
With gold and silver pride of broidered silks
Precious beyond all treasured count of wealth.
[He remains, staring spellbound.]
The armies pass, and now again the sky
Lies here reflected, and the shaded trees
Bring silence with their canopy of green.
There sped a swallow like a gleam of grey,
And here the wind went laughing through the leaves.
The magic show has passed.
THE YOUNGEST
It will renew.
Some fuller vision draws across the depths.
THE ELDEST
What seest thou, O Gawaine? for mine eyes
Are not as are my sister's, keen to mark
From farthest bounds the uttermost approach,
And in quick vision versed; yet mine retain
Their memories, unfaded for all time.
GAWAINE
An armoured knight in shameful wise is borne
Bound to the belly of a drooping steed;
Three sorry knaves of little stature drag
Th' unwilling bridle. Now the dream is passed.
What sight was this? what riddle of a world
Where men are pictures on the water's shield,
And things go by without our minds' control
Like scattered dreams when body's maladies
Assail the brain and make of it their toy?
THE YOUNGEST
This is thy future: time's processional
Moves ever through the water's mirrored depth,
And he who drinks may gain a broken glimpse
Within the endless change of shape and form
Wherewith the false, illusive world of sense
Doth clothe itself in unreality.
GAWAINE
Am I that knight, in wretched manner bound?
Shall others drag me at their bridle's will?
Would I were slain in battle, ere such fate
Had darkened all the splendour of my deeds
And over all the glory of great wars
And broken fields of battle cast a pall.
THE YOUNGEST
My knight he is and loyally he serves.
But let thine eyes and not thy lips demand
Response: lean forth above the crystal flood
And with keen search from visioned future pluck
A present knowledge; in those depths there lie
The figures, shapes, and fashions of all things.
Call forth again its magic pageantry,
And seek thy answer there.
GAWAINE
The depths are stirred,
Light leaps from shadow, figures move and sway
And gather into outline fraught with life. . .
Unbound he lies, the horse with feet unmoved
Crops short the herbage, triple caitiff knights
Have laid their hands beneath him; now they toil
Across the gorse; his helpless body hangs
With legs and arms that strike against the ground
In mimic eagerness and mock embrace.
And here they move beyond the mirror's rim,
And lo, myself, approaching on the hill! . . .
Dark! . . . dark! . . . more quick than sun before the storm,
Or moon cloud-ridden, sped the light away.
This water, gleaming with the shapes of men,
Is now but water --
THE SECOND
And therewith fulfils
Thy thirst, and calls upon thee for thy word,
That pledged reward, that choice between our lives.
GAWAINE
How ran your saying? "Whoso drinks
Shall choose among us her whom true desire
Would make companion in the day of deeds."
Fair are ye all: here lies no price to pay,
But some reward, heav'n-sent to quench desire.
Fair are ye all, and therein lurks the doubt:
I choose the one, and straight the other two
Neglected rankle, till a gaping wound
Across my memory cries out regret,
And lo, I know not whom my choice approves.
Yet often, when our brains are still at fault,
Still measuring confusion, weighing doubts,
There wakens in our heart a sudden fire
To guide the will and light the darkened thought.
I pray you, therefore, be compassionate
And find no evil in my words; their fault,
If fault they hold, set not against my charge,
But lay their burden at the doors of Them
Who fashioned men and gave them their desires.
THE ELDEST
To him that cries my name, I bring a gift
Of wisdom greater than the strength of kings.
Mine eyes have seen, through many a changing year,
The circles of men's life revolve, return,
Through birth and childhood unto age and death.
My lips can tell thee tales and mysteries
Of olden days when dragons held the earth
And creatures of the slime were on the sea,
When men did battle in fierce, brutish wise
And lived in hollow caverns of the hills.
GAWAINE
The past I love not: 'tis a murdered life,
A corpse wherein the worms of memory cling.
I like not tales, they haunt the present deed
And make the sword-edge tremble with their dreams,
The faltering spear-shaft snap within our hands.
THE YOUNGEST
But I am one who never felt the past
Blow like the bitter wind from winter seas.
For me the world is yet a dream unheard,
A flower whose cup has never held the sun.
Turn unto me and love me; thou and I
Shall guide anew the world, restore the right,
And make of men a goodlier, nobler race.
GAWAINE
There is nought certain in this world of change
Save what our hands can grasp, our eyes behold;
All else is mockery of chance and time,
A golden bauble, a deceptive lure,
A sunlit rainbow seen across the clouds, --
Draw nearer, there is nothing: mist and rain.
And thou, fair maid upon the threshold caught
With eager feet half ventured, half afraid,
Thy promise is not yet fulfillment grown,
Thine eyes are mirrors of a future world,
Foreboders of enchantment, giving view
On womanhood and sweet matured delights,
Still hidden, now, in virginal reserve.
[He turns towards the SECOND MAIDEN.]
But thou whose gaze is neither sad nor gay,
Not sad for years behind thee taken flight,
Nor gay with hope of pleasant days unseen,
But full with knowledge of a present grace,
Demanding not from future or from past,
Secure within the fastness of thy ways,
Thou art to me a token and a sign
Of perfect womanhood's unyielding charm,
For matchless adoration set apart.
I choose thee for the mistress whom my spear
Shall champion against the warring earth;
My sword shall bear thy name through cloven steel
Of foeman's helm and reeling battle-shield;
And like a beacon shalt thou blaze and burn
Above the lists, through cries of fallen men,
To light me into battle, till I grasp,
With victor's hand, th' unsteady plume of fame.
THE SECOND
The choice is made, the choosing spirit bound;
The reed is cut, the spoken word is writ;
Closed lies the book; already, many hands
Are fashioning the unrelenting seal.
The hour is here wherein thou shalt depart.
In form invisible I come to guide
Thy shifting purpose and uncertain will.
Go forth and seek fulfillment from thy choice:
Beyond this wood there lies the waiting world
And many deeds therein, to do or spurn.
Across the shifting picture of thy fate
Lie sun and shadow of incessant change
And nought of steadfast purpose under all
Save me, in guise unseen, to lead thy hand
From fortune into favour, love, and strife.
Farewell, and fare as best such spirits may
That choose my counsel; theirs is but a life
That mocks its own attainment, wrought in vain.
[She bends over the well and speaks in incantation.]
Veil the light:
Hide the day!
Shadow and silence!
Dreamless sleep!
Spirits hidden in the well,
Bound beneath a magic spell,
Stirring neither limb nor sense
In an idle impotence,
Rise against the glaring day,
Spreading sable shrouds and dun,
Cover earth and sky with grey;
Cast your veils against the sun!
[As she speaks, the light gradually wanes. From the well
a fine mist begins to rise.]
GAWAINE
By sorcery accursed I stand agape
Nor stretch a thwarting hand to break the spell.
Were I a cliff, a thousand ages old,
Or gnarlèd pine deep-rooted in the rock,
I could not stand more idly, nor endure
More helpless in the surging front of ill.
[The mist grows ever heavier, until a dense fog, rising
from the well, has covered the entire stage.]
THE THREE MAIDENS [singing]
Damp and mist and heavy vapour,
Shrouded fog and dripping cold,
Quench the sunlight's fallen taper,
Hide away the flame of gold.
Out of pond and becken cool,
Out of well and fountain head,
Out of tree-enshadowed pool
Where the autumn leaves lie dead,
Where no deer with frightened feet
Ever leapt in terror fleet,
Out of marshy river bed
Where no forest creature drank,
Out of swamp and fen arisen,
Break your bonds and loose your prison,
Water vapours, grey and dank!
[The fog has completely hidden everything. The
singing voices have drifted ever further and
further away, until at last the song dies in the
distance. A long silence follows. For several
minutes the stage remains grey and void. At
last the fog begins to clear.]
ACT ONE
SCENE: A wild upland open to the sky. Hill-
slopes with scattered firs. The ground is
covered with gorse-bushes; knee-high, in golden
bloom. The last shreds of fog drift off over the
moors to the left and vanish, reevaeling far-away
the gleaming towers of the Castle of ETARRE.
Full morning. AVRAN, BALARIN, and MARIS
stand above the helpless body of PELLEAS.
AVRAN
Enough of drudge and drag: here let him lie.
The pricking gorse has played an eager bride
And clapped him welcome in her unwelcome arms.
BALARIN
A weary work fulfilling punishment!
Too often in the scourger's thankless toil
The swinging lash flies back, and with shrewd blow
Assails th' inflicting hand: so is't with us,
Who strain against yon living weight of mail
With bloodless fingers, and with stumbling feet
Through country-side accurst scarce feel our way;
Small glory have we got us therewithal.
This is our fame: to counter with a knight
Who will not lift his spear against our shields,
A mad-cap creature in whose brain there sits
The bird of folly. Truth, a mighty task.
AVRAN
And here, within the growing heat of morn,
We come like serfs in secret burial,
Dragging a living corpse beneath the sky.
Enough, enough! this is no food for knights;
Our very horses would revolt the taste
And eye their masters with a keen disdain.
MARIS
There is a feast which no knight may refuse
If he be bid to a table; all that owe
Allegiance to an overlord must eat
The meat of service, drink the willing wine
Of fealty, whereby true knighthood lives.
You know from whom you draw your honour's strength;
She laid upon us bond of her commands
And bade us from the belly of his steed
Unbind this knight and over briar and thorn
Drag out his body till the breath be faint:
So should his courage vanish like a dream,
And that mad frequency of his desire
Be staid to abstinence. Up! drag him on.
AVRAN
Then snare the sun and strangle out its heat.
Go, draw cool shadows out of distant trees
And wake the winds that sleep upon the hills.
Call back our bodies' breath that's taken flight
At sight of labour, like a bonded wretch.
MARIS
Then let him lie, and heaven rest his soul.
BALARIN
The mighty Pelleas, the rumoured knight
Well proven in the midmost toil of war,
How fares he now, the hero of the lance,
The champion such as men have never seen?
AVRAN
In curious wise beneath the open sun
He dreams of battle, while the springing gorse
Grows up unheard around his silent helm.
BALARIN
But when his bruisèd limbs have found the balm
Of first recovery, he'll rise and seek
To draw the shattered ships of his emprise
To greater battles over windier deeps.
AVRAN
'Twere well to slay him here and quench his soul.
Else will the spirit that indwells his breast
Grow wings once more and fly above our heads
Like loosened hawk against the fleeing hare.
MARIS
We may not slay him, tho' 'twere mercy's hand
Which dealt that stroke.
AVRAN
Then will he, like a midge,
In vast persistence make our lives a curse
Of tiny wounds and quick annoyances.
MARIS
'Twill prove him small avail to prick and sting:
The midge, if he return too often, learns
That wings so small can yet be clipped and crushed
And tiny body caught and buffeted.
AVRAN
'Twere well to hold it longer to its cage;
Yet here it has its freedom and the world
Wherein to fly abroad, and lo, it lies
Ungrateful, without sign of thanks or praise.
Fly warrior, we salute thee! Noisy gnat,
Midge of the marshes, fare thee well!
BALARIN
All hail,
Chit-sparrow; sit i' the bush and braggart sing;
O valiant bird! O wren with eagle's soul!
An owl that flies in daytime without eyes.
[BALARIN and AVRAN depart across the hill. MARIS
follows, but hesitates and turns back.]
MARIS [standing above the body of PELLEAS]
Too many times, far, far too many times
In this same outcome of the selfsame deed
Have we prevailed above you, dragged you off,
Railed over you and spoken out our curse
Of bitterness against your foolish ways
And ears forever thirsting for abuse.
Too many times our lips have brewed this draught
And mixed the gall of laughter with farewell,
A honeyed mead in truth, a stirrup cup
To speed you in your folly. Change your ways!
But if you fall once more within our hands,
Expect no better fare from us, nor yet
From her that sent us, whom your seeking eyes
Shall never look upon again.
[PELLEAS moves slightly.]
PELLEAS
Etarre!
MARIS
Yes, 'tis Etarre! the one sweet word forlorn
That lies upon your lips like magic seal,
Like stroke of sorcery and mystic spell
Awak'ning fever in your blood and brain
That iron may not chill, nor dungeon tame!
[He goes off. Silence.]
PELLEAS [moaning]
O world! O disillusion!
[In a sudden passionate outburst]
Black despair,
Come, cover me with all the shrouds of night!
[Silence. FERGUS, attendant on Pelleas, comes over the hill to the right.]
FERGUS
I marked them how they stood upon this hill
In final converse of an evil deed,
Here, here upon these trackless, silent slopes
Within the yellow reaches of the gorse
Lies Pelleas on prison-bed of thorns,
Bound with the glowing fetters of the sun.
O misery, that in his mind should dwell
Submission unto knaves, the lowered shaft,
The sunken sword, the battle void and thin.
Alas the name that rang in other days!
The knight whose deeds dwelt ever on the lips
Of others' praises -- how with single hand
He smote the robbers of the woods and hills
With keen destruction -- how within the lists
His spear was fire, a gathered shaft of light,
His battle-cry the voices of the storm.
And now his name is overset with growth
Of dark abuse and shameful calumny,
And those that should have reeled and sunk to earth
In red disaster and dark swoon of sense,
These, even these, mean varlets, thieves, and rogues,
Drag Pelleas through upland gorse and way
And throw him like a carcase for the birds!
[He casts about him in the gorse.]
In vain: in vain. Oh, would that eyes were made
To pierce the barriers which hide their goal,
Or cleave like lightning in a darkened sky,
Bringing their own fierce strength wherewith to see.
Here, somewhere here, he lies in bitterness
With broken mail and battered helmet thrown,
A useless tool discarded from the hands
Of little workers fashioning misdeeds.
Etarre! Etarre! accursèd beauteous face
That shines like fire of madness in his eyes
And makes his courage falter like a flame;
Etarre! Etarre! from heaven's utmost height
May God's unfailing anger strike you down
And burn that body like a blackened tree!
May you be fire engulfed with water-floods,
May you be embers smouldered into death,
May you be ashes blown across the air!
I hate you! who are poison in my lips;
Within my mouth your name runs like a curse,
A thing to rail against with tongue and teeth.
[He comes upon PELLEAS.]
O mighty master -- fallen, fallen, fallen,
See, I am here, your servant, nigh at hand
To raise you up, to loose your helm and mail
And with fresh water lave your sunken eyes
And wet your thirsty lips and cheeks and hair.
[PELLEAS moves slightly, groaning.]
Midway between the waking sense he swoons.
Ah, master, fallen master, turn and speak!
PELLEAS
Leave me. Depart. I have no wish for you.
Go, bring me death to minister my needs.
FERGUS
Death's a false friend, a thief within your tents;
He'll stab you in your slumber. Cast him out!
[FERGUS has been busy stooping above Pelleas. He
busies himself in loosening the armour while he
speaks.]
PELLEAS
I'll have no other servant: bring me death.
FERGUS [loosening the helmet]
Death's a grim army laying endless siege
Against the living fortress of the soul.
Endure, endure; beat back the pressing foe,
Lift up again your shield above the walls
In stern defiance. See, I raise you up.
PELLEAS [in FERGUS' arms]
Leave me, ah, leave me here. My broken strength
Is fainter than a sunset wind, my mind
Is dry and empty. -- Do not make me live,
But leave me, leave me here; Etarre --
I saw her not, nor heard her voice, nor felt
Her anger go across me like a rain.
God knows, such rain were welcome to my lips!
Her anger is more sweet than other's praise,
Her voice is like a wind within the grain,
A moving swell of wave-like melody.
FERGUS [raising PELLEAS to his feet]
Her voice is like the winter moon half seen
Across the other shoulder, magical -- a curse!
PELLEAS
Have you come hither mocking at my grief,
To cry before me words against Etarre
And prick my sorrow into festered rage?
No, leave me, leave me: what avails your heed?
I may not look upon her eyes again!
She will not see me, will not grant me speech;
Her wretched knights perform her word afar,
And cast me from her. Oh, world, world,
What cruelty there lies within your breast
To poison all the milk whereat we suck!
We are the children of your hate, conceived
In some dark moment of false passion, born
In anguish of repentance, things accursed
For whom you have no mother-love, no care,
No joy if we be happy, no regret
If we be clothed in sorrow and in grief.
FERGUS
Each man, if he be strong, can take the world
Within the grasping hollows of his hand
And shape anew the image of his will.
There is no knight of all this country wide
Can sit his steed unshaken in the lists
Against your onset, none that can maintain
A helm unshorn, and armour unassailed.
What runes are carven by an evil hand
Within the iron of your spirit? Wake,
Throw off the clutch of sleep, the grasp of dreams,
And blow the wraith of magic into mist
Of idle vapour. Ah, if I were you,
My lance should smite the laughter of your foes,
My wrath should strike them like an angry sea,
My vengeance scatter them like autumn leaves!
Ride, ride against them! Snap their strength in twain!
Go like a curse across this evil land
And leave behind you weeping in the halls
And wail of women seeking 'mid the slain
For their departed lords: and she, the shining snake
That sits enfolded in your changèd heart,
She, even she, whose castle holds these lands,
Etarre, the witch of evil, let her die.
PELLEAS
What, is your service changed to blackest gall?
Is all your heart tormented like your speech
With envious canker? O ungrateful task
To lift from earth the children of the dust
And give the toiling creatures of the plough
High freedom in a servitude of love.
Nay, who shall give the oxen of the field
The battle-steed's high temper, who shall place
A soul within the body of a slave,
And waken knighthood stifled in the serf?
FERGUS
With no sweet ointment of forgiving love
Will I anoint the heads of those that feed
Their starving wits on hatred and foul thoughts.
To them that do you wrong I bear one love,
The love to see their naked bodies hang
From windy branches, and their vulture necks
Engirdled with the swaying, clinging noose.
PELLEAS
God grant you never set your feet within
The holy circle of knighthood! -- Take me hence.
For I will wait until my body's harm
Be grown to match my soul's serenity,
The high security of my resolve.
Then shall I find me other ways to seek
My lady's favour, win her angry heart
To softer mood of loving.
FERGUS
Yet your words
Are greater than your strength. How would you walk
Through upland gorse and rough unlevelled way?
I cannot bear you far, tho' I am fain
My back would seek the burden.
PELLEAS
Search and say
If with your eyes you mark my loosened steed
Among the heather ranging; for they came
And bore me bound thereto. You see him not?
Go, search the distance with quick feet and bring
Him hither straight; he has not wandered far.
FERGUS
Rest here in quiet till I come again
And wait in patience for my sure return.
[He departs.]
[PELLEAS stands staring before him in silence.]
PELLEAS
I would I were as changeless as the sun
Who sinks each day into the nether-mist
And on the morrow mounts above the dawn
In light undimmed; but I with shaken soul
Survey the darkness, and with faltering step
Go down into the countries of the night,
Not knowing if within another East
My eyes shall look upon the risen day.
All, all is dark: the hell-pits of despair
Gape ever at my feet. Where leads the way
That brings me to the daylight of her eyes,
The dawn which is her presence, and the world
Which is her body's grace, her beauty's orb
Of circled wonder? Barred and double barred!
There is no oaken shaft can break this port,
No twisted hook to catch the bolt aside.
[Silence.]
O sérene sun, alone and pitiless,
How mocking is the glitter of thy beams!
Meseems thou art the laughter of the world
Made visible, contemptuous disdain
Wherewith all nature frames the race of man.
O shadow stretched before me on the ground,
What thing art thou, with what fidelity
Art thou my steadfast comrade? Is't thy wish
That binds thee, or a dread necessity?
Art thou my soul, an unsubstantial thing
Knit to me while the sun of life shall last?
The sun's a mockery, and life a lure!
Go! I release thee from thy servitude;
Thou canst not love me who am no man's friend.
Here in the world I stand alone. Go forth,
My soul, my shadow; seek a happier land
And leave this wretched body to fulfil
Unequal combat with a grudging fate
And so go down to death, all purposeless.
[He becomes aware of GAWAINE approaching.]
What knight is this that stands upon the hill?
Is this some foe to plague my restless life,
Some novel torment wrought against my love?
He moves alone, an armoured knight, afoot
Within these reaches of untrodden wild.
How came he here? Why moves he without steed
In painful toil beneath his armour's press?
[GAWAINE enters.]
GAWAINE
Long have I sought you, wayfaring alone.
In visionary speech with three, I gained
Strange knowledge and strange biddings to fulfil.
PELLEAS
Knight, if on wrathful deed your steps be turned,
Let not your pride so wander from its ways
That it o'erstride itself and seek the dark
Of high self-confidence and vaunting word.
Fulfil your bidding, add your little stroke
Of evil action, yet at heart know well
By no necessity of fallen strength
I yield my honour to your lesser sword.
GAWAINE
You shall not find the hungry bird of hate
Upon my shield engraven, with fierce claws
Tearing the world asunder.
PELLEAS
Are you not
Of them that loathe me at my lady's will
And their own coward hearts' high jealousy?
GAWAINE
I am of Arthur's court. I come in need
To succour knighthood, as our king enjoins
Upon the glorious order of his knights.
I know not who you are nor with what wrong
Pent up by men's ill-will and jealous hate.
Yet three there were who spoke in visioned speech
And by their power on heaven's high elements
Conveyed my hither.
PELLEAS
O belovèd sound,
The speech of knighthood in this wretched land,
The light of honour risen in the dark
Of shameless men and unrepentant deeds!
Pelleas I am: my spear has held the prize
In many tourneys made in many lands.
Much have I heard and loved your noble king.
The name of Arthur is a silver star
Of truth and equity; in faultless strength
The sword of chivalry gleams there aloft,
A vision unto men, a creed for faith.
GAWAINE
And I am Gawaine, of the king's high court,
Come hither from the walls of Camelot.
The fame of Pelleas has pierced the dark
Of distance, with the light of far renown
For tourney's wreath, and battle's blameless meed.
Our noble order knows no nobler knight.
What fateful force of men iniquitous
Or deed self-willed has brought you, armed and lone,
To stand upon the broom's flower-gilded heights
And gaze across the stretch of wind and sun
On warring wastes where no man's hand is set
Compulsive o'er the unwilling growth of fields?
PELLEAS
Alas, this tale runs back among the years
And far beyond the present sight attains
Its first awakening.
GAWAINE
Yet would I hear.
I seek adventure and I strive to bring
Knighthood's redemption into creedless lands.
PELLEAS
On word there is, which shuts and opens wide
The doors of all my deeds and all my thoughts:
It is a sign wherewith to clothe my soul
In courage linked from bright security;
It is a charmèd ring, a circled rune,
A treasure-stone of wizardry -- Etarre!
GAWAINE
The name I know not, but am fain to hear
This mystic potency, enfolded deep
Within a word's soft-sounding innocence.
PELLEAS
If you would hear, and track the winding speech
Through courts of men and castles set anigh,
I have no need to hide on lying lips
The truth wherefrom my knighthood gets its shame.
So hearken: -- in the eager days long since,
I know not how far back, for memory stands
In helpless failure at the count of time
So wretched and so slow to drag away,
Perhaps ten years are flown, enough to fill
A stripling youth's advance to manly state, --
Long time, long time, how long ago it seems --
GAWAINE
Nay, well I know the adverse wind of fate
Clouds all the backward years and hides the sun
Of memory in a grey forgetfulness;
The past becomes a lost and distant land
Where once we moved and shall not move again.
But for your story. -- Speak, and tell the tale.
PELLEAS
Magic of forge and steel and crucible
Had wrought a sword; by whose hand, no one knew;
'Twas thought the workers of the hills had steeped
Their fires in incantation and had made
This sword to be a gift to mortal child,
A king's son of the western isles, who died.
Golden the hilt, alight with ruddy glow;
Thereon engraved, in token of its gift,
"The son of Ork. Be strong and hold me fast."
Now, when the king's son died, his father called
A mighty tourney in the land and set
This sword as guerdon to the winning arm.
And many came and made their name be cried
Within the tourney, and King Arthur's knights
Were gathered, ten or twelve, and Kay was there
(Him whom they call the Seneschal), Sir Tor,
And many others. So the joust was made.
Great ladies, queens and nobly born, beheld;
And one there was whose eyes were like a fire
Within my heart, and ever as I strove
Her beauty shone about me like a star,
And in mine ears I heard a crying voice,
And felt a throbbing of unmeasured strength
Which of my body made its minister
To triumph in the tourney. So I fought,
And over all prevailed.
GAWAINE
Then you are grown
A giant from the strength of lesser men;
The hard-wrought prowess of each vanquished name
Like hound that changes master comes to you
To aid you in the quest for fame, and swell
The cry of hunting.
PELLEAS
In my hands they set
The tourney's meed, the gleaming hilt of gold
That clasped the flash of steel; upon my head
The golden circlet clung. And I, forthwith,
Rode down the lists, and passed with heedless eyes
The rangèd queens, and at the shining feet
Of one more fair than kingly daughter cast
The golden circle, royal crown of love
And adoration; but with mocking hands
She flung it from her, high above the heads
Of those who sat about her, that it fell
Within the dust and turmoil of the lists.
And many there cried out with jealous speech
And wrought her shame, until I made be known
That I would prove her every act and word
Against their gathered spears: thereat they ceased.
GAWAINE
Strange tale it is, yet not too hard to read.
She loved a lesser knight and with sure strength
Spurned proffered homage of his vanquisher.
PELLEAS
Nay, in that quiet heart of hers there beats
No blood of passion. Dark indifference
With sluggish stream mounts ever in her veins.
GAWAINE
What came of this?
PELLEAS
Into her rightful land
I followed her; and there I still abide.
Against the sky of my desires and deeds
There stands, with distant battlements agleam,
The castle of Etarre, undimmed, unchanged,
While over me the seasons spend their wrath
And men work out their hate; yet I prevail.
GAWAINE
What brought you here alone and without steed?
PELLEAS
The hands of men across the thorny wild.
GAWAINE
In anger, or by your own spoken wish?
PELLEAS
In anger done, yet by another's will.
GAWAINE
Why seek to hide the need? Within a glass
I saw a knight whom other three unbound
From belly of a steed, and with rude strength
Dragged far across the barren fields of gold.
PELLEAS
Ah, I am shamed forever in your sight.
GAWAINE
True knighthood never sleeps with naked shame,
And though he share her hovel leaves therein
No children of ill fame. Your courage shines
Through all the shrouds of dark ignóminy.
Pure spirits cannot err.
PELLEAS
O noble creed,
That brings the eye to witness, not to judge
Ask what you will.
GAWAINE
I ask your present need,
And give you service of my sword and spear.
PELLEAS
Strength will not ease the tightened cord of hate,
'Tis drawn too high above an earthly reach.
GAWAINE
The sword of courage and the spear of truth
May yet avail. Who were these wretched three
And by what order moved?
PELLEAS
The self-same word:
It is a light for knowledge.
GAWAINE
Speak! Etarre?
And is it she who brings you into wrong?
PELLEAS
Because I may not live sans sight of her
I ride against her knights in mimic fray
And suffer them to make me prisoner
That I may come before my lady's eyes
To look upon her countenance and hear
The wonder of her speech. In wrath alway
She cries against me and commands her knights
To cast me into dungeon or to set
The brand of shame across my fallen shield
GAWAINE
Were those her men that wrought you this despite?
PELLEAS
Her will through others moving, cast me here.
And now the last sweet flower of hope is dead,
Trod under by her foot. The autumn grows
And winter creeps along the leafless cold,
With mortal fingers plucking branch and twig
And blowing harsh against the feeble strength
Which is the life of man and beast and flower.
My hope is dead; I shall not see it more.
GAWAINE
If hope through snow and chill of winter love
Has ever blossomed in your heart, and spread
Its balm of perfume through your wounded soul,
'Twill reach its flower once more against the sky
To catch the sunlight in its chaliced cup
And nurture trustless sorrow into confidence.
PELLEAS
This is the last; beyond this utmost bound
Nought further lies: love, life, all, all at end!
She will not suffer me her presence' grace,
But strikes me from afar with other hands.
To-day, I saw her not; her worthless knaves
Fulfilled her final anger, bringing word
More bitter than their curses and their blows.
"O fool," they said, "our lady whom we serve
Bids us to tell you that until she die
She will not look upon your loathèd form
Nor hear your wretched pleading." So they spoke,
And dragged me hither with full jest and jeer.
Accurst be all the forces in me pent
That out of shattered nody, darkened brain,
Build up anew the empery of life,
The realm with I must rule, unwilling king
Of citizens that hold me prisoner
Within the palace of my self. Have end,
O dreadful powers working in the dark;
Have end, and let me die!
GAWAINE
Nay, live, and love!
Or if you may not love, then hate; but live!
Life is a present moment, a shifting point
That moves from nothing into nothing; where it is,
There is the world, the beating pulsing world
With all its marvel of a felt design.
Stretch out your hand and snare the fleeting point;
Then have you all the world within your grasp.
Live, live, and I will aid you in your quest.
PELLEAS
What can you do? For many a month and year
I dreamed that love would waken in her breast.
A fool, I dreamed that mortal will could guide
Love the immortal, Love the uncompelled, --
From impious effort gaining due reward,
Sadness of heart, bruised limbs, and shattered faith.
GAWAINE
Is there no gentler word which I may speak?
May I not plead before her, win her heart
To softer ways and kindlier moods?
PELLEAS
In vain.
GAWAINE
May I not say she has misjudged, has scorned
That which no queen may purchase with her crown,
A lover's worship, gift of gifts?
PELLEAS
In vain.
GAWAINE
Then let us find some subtler web to catch
Her fleeting love and bring it to your lips.
If she be mortal, she shall yet be yours;
If pity stir within her, let us make
A staff of pity; if within her dwell
A woman's worship of high deeds and thoughts,
Then let us make high thoughts and deeds our scrip
To help us in our quest; if fear of death
Live in her body, death shall be our shoon
Wherewith to walk; if dreams of love
E'er stir the curtains of her sleep, then love
Shall be a cloak and clothe us from the rain.
Pity, high deeds, and love, and fear of death,
Shall be to us cloak, shoon, and scrip, and staff,
And from her we'll get alms.
PELLEAS
In vain! in vain!
You would with naked strength and covered wiles
Beget from hatred tears, from loathing love.
I tell you, not with open pomp and power
Love enters in. There is a world unseen
Wherein our passions live, and come and go
When no eye marks them. In the world of sense
Our words and deeds have puissance, and the earth
Trembles before our coming; blown with pride
We stretch our sceptres toward that other world
And lo, the wand whereat earth's kingdoms shook
Stands idle in our hand, a gilded stem.
GAWAINE
And yet Etarre shall love you; grief and fear
Are masters of the soul, and work their will.
Love is their servant; they but clap their hands
And he appears. Give me your knighthood's trust
And by my knighthood's faith I swear to you,
Etarre shall love you.
PELLEAS
O mistaken creed!
Is love a hound that walks within the leash?
Too long, too long in folly I maintained,
Seeking to win her love. Love comes not thus.
We know not when nor wherefore, we have seen
No shadow fall across our steps, nor heard
His mystic footfall; yet we raise our eyes
And lo, he stands before us, garbed in white,
Triumphant, with a light upon his brows.
GAWAINE
Nay, call him and he'll come, a willing slave.
God gave him unto men, that men might be.
Hearken and heed: your shield and helm and sword
Shall change with mine. So armed, and with a steed,
Will I approach the castle where Etarre
Holds state aloof.
PELLEAS
What then? She'll love me more
Because you hold my arms?
GAWAINE
Nay, hate you less.
Death breaks in twain the stubborn plant of wrath
And treads to earth its growth and jealous fruit;
He lays his finger on the lips of hate,
And anger stands with saddened eyes downcast
Before his presence. In the camps of war
He binds proud nations with a chain of tears,
And with a mound of earth builds emperies.
Etarre shall hear my words of bitter weal
And think you dead. Thereat her brow will change
And all her nature be suffused with grief;
Th' unshaken headland of her wrath shall sink
Within a sea of tears. With sudden ray
Illumined, she shall see life's large expanse
Move like a landless ocean, vast and void.
So will her heart be caught with sudden love
And she shall hate me, and against my name
Cry murderer. Her body's burning light
Shall languish in the sable cloth of grief,
Affliction's gloomy cloak; her cheeck shall pale
With wan reflection, like the moon that broods
Too much upon the splendour of the sun.
Then will I cry her pardon of my fault,
Confess you living, till the glad blood leap
Through all her veins and mantle in her brow.
She shall give thanks to Heaven's holy power
That held you safe; to all, she shall proclaim
You loved and dear; and she shall bid me go
To seek you out and bring you to her arms.
PELLEAS
So, with the breath of falsehood you would blow
Love, like a wooden vane that points the wind?
The gust of truth will veer it straight once more!
GAWAINE
The winds must change; the north must yield to south,
The breath of snow be melted by the spring,
And hate must falter at undoubting love.
Give me your shield and sword, and let me fare.
PELLEAS
Shall love's high course be furthered by deceit,
Blessed by false words and hastened by false wiles,
And crooked path lead straighter to the goal?
GAWAINE
Yet paths that cannot scale a naked cliff
May find soft slopes to guide a sure ascent
On other sides. What matter for the turn?
Give me your shield and sword, and let me fare.
PELLEAS
I will not. 'Tis by other ways I seek
To win her pure truth and faultless love.
GAWAINE
Are you a fisher who with straining net
Enmeshes ocean prey, and at the last
When silver fishes struggle in his grasp
Throws back his booty to the waiting sea?
The years with eyes of pity have looked down
Upon you, and in restless flight o'erhead
Paused for a moment with a prophecy
Of other years to come.
PELLEAS
And now?
GAWAINE
And now
The time is here with open-handed gift,
And you would spurn it! Oh, how vain are thoughts!
They have no more reality than mist
Which sunlight scatters: 'tis the deed that is.
Three days, and you shall lie within the clasp
Of golden arms and hear from burning lips
Love's true confessional, the marriage night.
Will you then doubt she loves you? Will you smite
Her mouth and call her lips a liar's tool
And cast her from you? What shall matter then
The means whereby we strove and wrought, and gained
This loved reality, this goal of all your thoughts?
If she be brought to love you, then she loves,
And on it there's no doubt.
PELLEAS
But in my heart
Doubt raises tumult like an angry sea.
GAWAINE
A stormless sky shall lay its waves at rest.
Etarre shall love you, by my word and truth!
PELLEAS
O fond belief, that wings the heart
As feather to a bird new-born
Wherewith to leave the nest of pain
And seek the lands of gold!
Give me your oath of knightly faith
That you are herald in this act,
Not wooer.
GAWAINE
For that jealous word
I give you pardon.
[He stretches out his hands and touches PELLEAS'
sword.]
Hilt and bar and blade
Be record of my oath; sunlight and wind
Maintain it; honour keep it fast. I swear
By Arthur's knighthood shining in the skies
Of false enchantment and black cowardice,
If I be found unfaithful, changeful, false,
May my bare through feel this unsheathèd blade,
May I be cast for ever from the light!
PELLEAS
Across despair's black-vaulted firmament
Your words have moved refulgent like a star
Which angels hurl from heaven to guide men's steps
On stormy nights through treacherous foul ways.
Words lie too lightly on the lips of man
That I with words could thank you.
[He loosens his helm.]
Take my helm,
And here my shield.
GAWAINE
The sword--?
PELLEAS
I cannot give.
"Be strong and hold me fast," so runs the rune.
Through dungeon keep, through false defeat, foul hands,
And knaves' dark roguery, the rhyme has wrought;
Unharmed the sword abides. Take shield and helm,
Therefrom the tale has evidence enough.
[FERGUS appears over the hill.]
And here at time's full flood my servant comes,
Called by the present need, -- and yet, alone;
Wherein our need is desolate. He went
To seek a mount, yet comes with empty zeal.
[FERGUS at sight of GAWAINE stops, alarmed. Reassured
by GAWAINE'S attitude and bearing, he advances.]
GAWAINE
Armed and afoot, I cannot far proceed.
Yon castle on the deep horizon's rim
Beckons and nods with greeting from afar
In vain civility. Stands nowhere nigh
Some hermitage whence I may find a steed?
PELLEAS
My man-at-arms knows well this waste of land.
He shall inform us. [To FERGUS] So, in idle quest
You sought?
FERGUS
Sir Pelleas, the steed I found.
He waits beyond the slant of yonder rise.
PELLEAS
What mock of service have you hid herein?
I bade you lead him hither.
FERGUS
How? with wings?
He cannot mount the sudden sheer ascent;
But thither I can bear you, where he waits.
PELLEAS
Then thither lead Sir Gawaine.
FERGUS
Shall he ride
And you remain?
GAWAINE
Shall squires-at-arms protest
When knights hold counsel?
FERGUS
Good sir knight, oft time
The fool's hid wisdom guides the king aright,
The jester's bells sit steadier than the crown.
I guard my lord and master from deceit.
PELLEAS
I pray you pardon him, a faithful servant,
Who errs too much in serving and in faith.
[To FERGUS]
Sir Gawaine goes to plead before Etarre,
And win me favour.
FERGUS
Favour in love's cause
Is not a ring to slip on other's hand.
The pleader pleads but for himself.
GAWAINE
O vile,
O base earth-born, were you my serving man
Red stripes should leap across your quivering back;
The dogs should laugh at you and loll their tongues
To see you lower fallen than themselves!
PELLEAS
Sir Gawaine, pardon. Much adversity,
On me descended, has made dark his mind.
He probes forever in suspicious depths,
And where he thinks to find an enemy,
His very soul drips poison and his words
Are but the distillations of his thoughts,
The gathered fumes and acids of his brain.
He shall repent and serve you loyally.
GAWAINE
Then let me go forthwith and seek the steed,
And so depart. My helm and shield I leave
In pledged exchange. When twice the sun has set
And twice arisen, messenger shall come
And big you to the castle of Etarre.
Till then, farewell.
PELLEAS
God speed the ventured aim.
FERGUS
And you, O master, what of you alone,
Wearied and hungered on the shadeless hills?
PELLEAS
Go seek for me from distant hermitage
Another steed. By sun-down be returned
And bear my hence at last.
GAWAINE
Farewell.
PELLEAS
Farewell.
[FERGUS and GAWAINE depart.]
PELLEAS
[alone, watching the two move across the brow of the hill]
So fare, my heart's adventure, so fare well.
CURTAIN
ACT TWO
SCENE: A room in the Castle of ETARRE.
Tapestries upon the walls. The late afternoon
sun streams in through a solitary window. Its
shaft of light falls full upon ETARRE, who sits
before a loom set in a recess. She is working
at a tapestry, now nearly finished. A maid,
AILEEN, attends her.
ETARRE
And one more colour to enrich his crest.
Shall it be scarlet?
AILEEN
Would not blue lie well?
ETARRE
It shall be scarlet. He shall flash and burn
Like dew sun-kindled with a thousand sheens.
Where hangs the scarlet thread?
AILEEN
Here at the wing
From this last dripping stain.
ETARRE
The sun a-mist
On autumn afternoons so stains the world;
A noble colour for a crested plume.
AILEEN
Yet blue were softer.
ETARRE
You are bitten deep
With this sea-madness; in your own blue eyes
Nought's fair that is not blue.
AILEEN
The world's a-drip
With red and crimson, or you like it not.
ETARRE
But, look you, I have reason in my choice,
For red's the fairer colour. There is nought so brave
As scarlet banners or a crimson sky.
AILEEN
For them that like it. But the blue of streams
On summer afternoons 'neath summer skies
Gladdens my heart with deep and pure content.
ETARRE
And one lone spray of hooded red in flower
Cries louder than the murmur of your streams,
The quiet of your skies. They are fancy-poor
Who love not red.
AILEEN
And false of heart
Who love not blue.
[Sings.]
Love came to me in kirtle red,
(Honour's false and Faith is dead);
Came again in kirtle blue
(Honour's fair and Faith is true).
ETARRE
You're quick in mocking me with children's rhyme.
Make me a rhyme to mock this rainbow bird
Whose crest is finished. How he sweeps and flies!
Come, I'll begin it.
[Sings]
On the wind there flies a bird;
He is come from distant shores,
From the dawn's unopened doors
To the western gates unstirred.
In his wingèd flight there run
Colours of the setting sun.
Do you end the song.
AILEEN [singing]
Eyes and lips and sweet desires
Are but feathers for his wings,
Burning love the song he sings;
All thy hope and thought are fires
Giving light unto his eyes;
Life and youth,
Beauty, truth,
Are the strength wherewith he flies.
Snowy breast and golden hair
Are but plumes for him to wear.
He shall sing a summer's day,
Clap his wings, away, away.
ETARRE
Ill caught. You've made your bird too like to Time,
The raven dark who speeds across the world,
And dressed him in fine colours like a daw
Which steals strange ornament.
AILEEN [singing]
Silken raiment wherein dressed
Beauty shimmers half divine,
Glint of jewels, rare and fine,
Are but colours for his crest,
Crimson colours for his wings;
Hark! 'tis love whereof he sings!
Brave and gay, a summer's day,
Ere he flies away, away.
ETARRE
I like it not.
It troubles me with some half-dreamed lament,
An unknown broken promise, I know not
To whom, nor for what purpose, made. Poor bird
Here woven on the loom, thou are maligned!
Thou art pure fancy of mine inmost dreams,
Not touched with these gross images of earth.
Thy colours are imperishable light
Caught from the steadfast sun and held secure.
Thou'lt never fly away, but here remain
To be mine eye's interpreter of joy,
To hang upon my castle walls, and sing
Thy crimson colours in sheer ecstasy.
AILEEN
Ay, let him live in silken thread and woof;
There is a bird which flies from mortal grasp.
Most fair he is, to perch upon our wrist
With flashing colours, and from sunlit throat
Pour forth his flooding heart's high melodies.
In every word you speak, he trills and sings;
In every motion of your hand, he moves
With wings aflutter; in your brightening eyes
He lives triumphant: oh, beware, beware;
Too soon he's gone, and in the dusk and chill
No nightingale shall waken into song.
ETARRE
What mean you? Life and Youth and Happiness?
I have them in sweet surfeit.
AILEEN
And of love?
ETARRE
How many times did I forbid his name
And cast him from my highest battlement?
With subtle track you turn upon my words
And lead me toward that monstrous loathing, hid
In all your thoughts. Shall I not be content
With golden solitude, that I must bind
Love's naked body to my car of dreams?
AILEEN
A maiden's eyes, a maiden's wise,
The open gates of paradise.
ETARRE
What mask of rhyme holds revel in your brain
That you make mock of me?
AILEEN
A loveless fate, and Eden's gate
Is barred with double sword of hate.
ETARRE
Have done! have done!
AILEEN
Flame that burns not, stream that flows not,
Maid that loves not, Eden knows not.
ETARRE
This is an old wives' song, a ragged cloth
With halting stitches sewn in knotted thread,
And you would clothe me with it like a queen!
I am content with life; you'd stir the stream
To waters turbid as the floods in spring.
AILEEN
I pray for love's awakening, to end
This dream that hides its own poor solitude
In deep illusion of a soulless life.
My heart can do no more.
ETARRE
Not more, yet less,
And cease to weary me with hopes and tears.
Your tongue moves ever in the wells of speech
Drawing new wonders to the light of day;
And chief there-mid ther curling snake of love
Winds envious through all your words. Have done.
[MARIS enters.]
AILEEN
And here comes one to guide you in your ways,
To steep your heart in cold indifference,
And marble every living pulse and vein.
MARIS
I pray you, give me a moment's grace, to cross
Your silken fancy with rough thread of care.
I have been troubled with much thought of late;
Our silent halls have heard my pacing step
And stared in dark displeasure, matching frown
Of sullen stone to sullen brow of thought.
ETARRE
Has Care thrown nets within my castle-yard
Or brought us siege? We'll catch him prisoner
And show him forth. Speak on, lay bare his haunt;
Pull down his hiding place and hale him out.
MARIS
Your eyes have seen him, many a day that's past.
He will not be gainsayed, but comes again
With unstilled clamour to our quiet walls.
He carries armour like a knight, has shield,
A spear, a sword, yet will no battle bear;
We drag him out and cast him to the wilds,
Where nature tends him with her healing dew
And dries him with the sunshine and the wind.
ETARRE
Pelleas.
MARIS
The orbed and golden fire of day
With no more steadfast pace in heaven's track
Returns to us: yet one gives light and warmth,
The other is a flame within our fields
That must be quenched.
AILEEN
Flame quenches flame, but sword
Can cut it not.
MARIS
Here's parable enough
To quench the very sun in ignorance
And cloud the light of reason in our brains.
ETARRE
Her idle speech yields up its idle tale:
To all her riddles waits a single key,
A key which I have dropped in blackest moat.
MARIS
You've carved a rune to clear a parable.
Your words are like a flight of wingèd birds
Crossing from sea to sea above my head;
I watch them pass, yet know not where they go.
But as for Pelleas, we'll speak of him;
He has a malady which eats his life
Like rain upon a sword-blade, turning steel
From flash and splendour into edgeless rust;
Deeper and deeper sinks the water-drop
Till all's corroded and the biting teeth
Of slow destruction meet from either side.
And such a sword is worthless unto men,
Fit for quick burial. In short word and brief,
For Pelleas I come, to counsel death.
ETARRE
You'd have me slay him!
AILEEN
Overstepped indeed!
He runs with too great fury.
ETARRE
Shall my name
Be joined with murder's most ignoble rout
And brought to silence?
MARIS
Not in cruelty
I come. There are some souls so weighed with life,
So deep in sorrow, so oppressed with ill,
That death comes like a prison-keeper kind
To strike away the chains of their captivity.
The holy Church's covenant of hell and heaven
Is but a prophecy of that unmeasured dark
Wherein the dead find sustenance and life;
And men in their last hour come down unto the strand
With all earth's hills behind them, and the level sea
Ready for new emprise unknown and unexplored.
Death is the hand that sends them from the shore,
And death the wind that swells within their sails.
And unto them that walk with leaden eyes
Viewless and vacant as the staring blind
Through life's harsh country, weary and despaired,
To them, you call it cruelty and hate
To give them vision of th' eternal sea
Which leads into th' unknown? Oh, be assured
That Mercy, queen of heaven, with backward grasp
Beneath her grey-starred gown holds fast a sword,
And unto some poor souls, in gift of gifts,
Brings not fine balsam, but the edge of death.
ETARRE
What charge is this; am I then merciful?
Did mercy move me through the days and weeks
Of his imprisonment, when he was cast
To sleep among the nettled dungeon-holds
And pray for sunbeams in a lightless pit?
Did mercy move me when with jest and jeer
You dragged him in the dust of horses' hoofs
Or cast him in the sight of beast and bird
To be their mockery? Freedom I sought.
Slaves can be cruel, and I was worse than slave,
Tormented with the thought that I was strong
And he was weak, yet he with all his cries
Made day a nightmare, and within my breast
Dried up the wells of pity. Idle hope
That I should turn against myself, and walk
On paths of mercy!
MARIS
Slay him and be free.
ETARRE
Slay him, and hear the owl at nightfall cry,
And watch the rooks, wind-blown above the towers,
Circle and caw, while all with self-same voice
Say "Murderer?" Slay him, and think the dew
Is born of lamentation, and the wind
Is come on wings funereal and wild
To scream for vengeance from the fiends of hell?
Slay him, you say, and watch the lips of men
Curdle against me, till my frenzied hands
Are clapped above mine ears to hide the sound
Of spoken evil? O unhappy, I,
Laden with unpremeditated wrong
Which will not alter. Oh, unhappy grief!
AILEEN
How changed is your contentment, torn aside
To bare the inner sorrow of unrest.
Oh, leave these false pursuings; be at ease
With woven pictures and imagined scenes
And make not real the dreams of tragedy.
ETARRE
Dreams, dreams, false shadows, phantoms thoughts,
How I am wearied of their flapping wings
Across the twilight of imagined worlds!
There is a change within me of new hours
And other suns; I could be kind or cruel
With unsuspected tenderness and hate.
There's something born within me, great and strange,
A child of impulse, wakened in my veins.
I'll have no more of dreams; come take this loom
And set it forth to other hands. And now
We'll hearken, Maris, to your deathly plaint.
AILEEN
I wish you were not wrought of changeful mood.
But late, you spoke of solitude's content
And wove yourself a golden web of dreams,
And now you're torn it like a tangled fly
Within a spider's mesh that's spun too weak.
ETARRE
Too weak it was; I've torn it with a word.
AILEEN
And with a word rebuilt it many a time.
ETARRE
The spider's dead; he'll weave no more. And now
We'll listen, Maris, to your plea of hate.
MARIS
'Tis not in hate I urge it. Well you know
I bear no hate to mightier knights than I.
ETARRE
And well you know I loathe your Pelleas
And turn all praise of him to darker speech.
MARIS
Still darker speech has gone abroad, to stain
The honour of Etarre and all her knights.
There is a tale now told in other halls,
And false it rings, and yet, alas, is true.
It tells of one lone knight who puts to scorn
Dungeon and steel, a foe who will not fight
Yet always conquers. Men speak hard of you
And call you vampire, sucking might and power
From lovelorn men. If this continues on,
Before the year's end Camelot will hear,
For Arthur's knights ride fast through all this land.
If you would keep untarnished light of fame,
This Pelleas must vanish from the land,
And mouths of men gape empty of ill words.
ETARRE
And if they know I slew him?
MARIS
Not by guile;
By open battle in the sight of men.
ETARRE
And who is there in all this land of mine
To battle with Sir Pelleas?
MARIS
Even I.
For he is fallen from his ancient strength
Till I and he are grown one force in arms.
ETARRE
And if he slay you?
MARIS
Then my cause is lost;
I bear the sorrow.
ETARRE
If he will not fight?
MARIS
We'll give him open choice to fight or die
And love of you will guide him in his choice.
ETARRE
And then he'd slay you! I have seen his spear
Go down the lists and ravish charging steeds
Of their proud burden. I have seen his sword
Shear crest and helm, and leap through buckled steel.
He'd slay you, slay you, and with eager cry
Come throw himself before me, plead for love.
No; other ways there are wherein men die,
And I, the vampire of the strength of men,
Shall know a better counsel.
[A horn is heard.]
Hark, a horn!
Go bring me news. Return with every speed.
[MARIS goes out.]
Look from the window; is there aught to see?
AILEEN
The sinking light of day on field and moor,
A flight of birds, the moving heads of grain,
The leaves ashiver on the trees; nought else.
ETARRE
What meant that horn? Is Pelleas returned
And have my knights brought me but empty words,
Boasting completion of the unfulfilled?
AILEEN
It cannot be. Some other danger calls;
For Pelleas is cast upon the hills
And comes not riding with imperious haste
Of new adventure.
ETARRE
Year and threefold year
Unvisited of danger, I have held
Communion with the change of day and night;
Wrapped in the quiet of a warless land
I have forgotten ravaging and death,
As one who inland dwelling on the hills
Forgets the loud-tongued clamour of the sea
And thinks to measure fierceness of all storms
By that weak wind that plays upon the moor,
Forgetting all the wrack and thund'rous surge
Which sweeps to ruin: on a sudden day
He comes unto the cliffs and hears the sea,
The menace of the waters holding guard
Before the portals of the earth. So I.
And here is war with brazen throat and strong
Come crying at my door, and I have slept.
AILEEN
Here is no tramping of the hoofs of war;
Some messenger on peaceful journey bent
Craves food and shelter, giving in return
The last hot news of joust at Camelot
And feast of Arthur's knights, the noble tales
Of battle unto giant and to dwarf
In magic wood and isle snake-habited;
Fen-dwelling sorcerers and craggy fiends;
The last sad word of knights no more returned;
Court-news and scandal, like a spider's thread
That waves in th' wind, seeking whereon to build.
ETARRE
Whate'er it be, my warders stand at guard
In quick restraint lest any enter in,
And unexpected come, and unannounced.
Where's Maris that he waits so long?
[GAWAINE enters, with helm and shield of PELLEAS.
The visor is down.]
Who's here?
Pelleas? Quick, help me! call for Maris! help!
Help, Balarin and Avran, Erse, and Dane!
Is no one here to help me, none to come?
O treachery outdark'ning all belief!
What! none, not one, -- one man to bring me help?
AILEEN
He dare not so assail you! If he come,
I'll cast myself against him, break his path,
And hamper him till you be fled.
[GAWAINE stands unmoved, leaning upon his shield.]
ETARRE
What! still?
No motion, no advance to pluck me hence?
You're harrier and I the song-bird caught,
And you leave sheathed your claws? What, great of heart,
You dare so come, and offer me, not death, --
No! that's too little for your hungry soul! --
But kindness and a sword that holds its sheath?
You dare so stand before me, raise no hand
To bring me hurt? You dare humility?
O impudence that mocks my woman's strength
And spurns all vengeance, every stroke of sword!
You've slain my knights or caught them with some trick,
You've made me here defenceless to your might,
And now you stand before me dumb and still
And speak no word and raise no awful hand.
AILEEN
Shall I bring aid, go search the battlements,
Call every serf from labour, strip the fields?
He will not dare assail you.
ETARRE
Here abide.
I need not man's assistance; woman's will
And woman's word borrow an unknown strength
When wrong's at issue. Here, in last defence,
You stand on trial, plead a mortal cause
Before an unrelenting judge. Have care
Of every moving word and springing phrase
Lest they o'ertip the balance with false weight.
Much have I found of blame and heavy fault:
A restless spirit walking in the night,
His mantle blown by gust of unseen winds
Across the darkness toward the home of storms
Where stars and sun are hidden; so he moves,
Wild-eyed with some new vision drawn aghast;
And this is he who makes my life a curse,
Pelleas, the knight; for him make your defence!
What! not an outburst of an injured love?
Are not those furnaces of passion stirred
That shone so ruddy in the dark of hate,
That burned upon the hill-tops of abuse
Like beacon fires, those furnaces of love
That once consumed your soul to ashen drift
And made you like a coal that's burnt to th' end?
What! not a word? no, not a single word?
Is all your life's endeavour stricken dumb?
Then hark; for them that will not plead their cause
Judgement is given. You have sinned too much
To keep the water's surface; lead, and more than lead,
Drags at your body, and the stream's quick flood
Closes above you, who are judged and damned.
A thousand ways you've found in your offence:
Your shadow has been dark on all my paths,
A fiery shadow burning grass and herb.
You've eaten out the petals of my life
And strewn my happiness like withered leaves
On autumn walks; you've been the wind and rain
To hold me prisoner beneath my roof
Longing in vain for sunlight and clear skies.
You've sinned too much against me, you have moved
A hundred feet beneath my castle walls
And with huge shoulders shaken keep and tower;
You've caught the lightning on the